I Will Be Your Hero
by superjude
Summary: Caused by the death of her older sister, Selena is cankered by her feeling of guilt and self-hate. Two years later, when she's going back to Los Angeles, she meets Drew Wilde, the person she hates the most after herself.     Inspired by Starstruck.


**Summary:** _I'm no superman, I can't take your hand and fly you anywhere you wanna go.  
But I can be everything you need. And if you're the one for me – I will be your hero._

_Caused by the death of her older sister, Selena is cankered by her feeling of guilt and self-hate. Two years later, when she's going back to Los Angeles – the city where her whole life had changed – she meets Drew Wilde, not only the most idolized pop star but also the person she hates the most after herself. And no matter how hard she tries to keep their ways separated – they always bump into each other again. Almost like it's destiny…_

A/N: Hello and thanks for reading :)  
This is not a real Starstruck FanFiction but it was inspired by the movie. I really liked it but to me there wasn't enough Drama and I missed a kiss and it was basically a little too much Disney. So I decided to change it as much as I would have done it as a script writer. I usually use real persons for my FFs but since it's not allowed to do here I changed the story a little bit so it's more suitable to this category (I guess you can tell by the names who my protagonists were. It's pretty obvious).

Also, this is my first FF that I translated into English (which is not my native language). So _please_ tell me if I make mistakes, I'm here to learn.

Okay, that's it. Enjoy reading :)

* * *

**Prologue**

Someday – probably in another sleepless night where I was shaking and holding on to my bed, trying to keep myself from throwing up – I realized that there were a total of five factors that led to the catastrophe, five factors that changed my life forever.

It had rained. For only one cursed night.  
Just to make that clear: It doesn't rain in California. Maybe there are a few chills in the 'cold' winter, but it doesn't. Rain. In. The. Summer. Well, apart from that one night where we wanted to go out and it had to rain buckets.  
The second factor: Instead of lying in our beds in Grandma's house, eating chips and watching old Disney movies, we had left the house. It was just this one time we wanted to have fun and experience something, this one time we had lied to our parents, but that was all it took to already get punished.  
Factor no. three: It wasn't only a rainy but also a dark night, new moon, no stars. And even though 'darkness' is not a reason for a bad car ride – at least not in L.A. – it didn't help to make it more comfortable.  
Besides this, there was also some junkie – the fourth factor, by the way – who entered his car after getting drunk in a bar.  
But the fifth factor, the most important mistake – and without it all the other ones would never have mattered – was that egocentric, dumb sister who now has to live with the fact that she killed somebody.

And that sister was me.

* * *

There are days where it feels like a dream, days, where I'm certain that not only this one night but my whole life after that haven't been real, that everything is just a fading memory of a nightmare. And I'm certain that this hole, this enormous emptiness inside of me, will go away in a few minutes.  
I know this sounds ridiculous but after waking up on such days I can feel hope again and it makes me believe that a catastrophe like that night could never happen to my family. And when the emptiness isn't leaving me, when I can't get my breathing to calm down, I will run to Jessica's room, realize that her face is already fading in front of me and that her bed hasn't been slept in for too long.  
On these days, I can't remember anything of the accident, have no idea what the license plate of that jeep said. I wouldn't even be able to tell you where we were heading to.  
The only thing I know is that something's not right and there's no way of correcting that mistake.

There are days where reality is smashing right into my face, where I almost can't breathe, days where I realize that she will never ever come back again. And that this is my fault.  
Then – when sitting in her room, trying to catch what's left of her scent and crying – I remember every small detail of that night, the exact color of her fingernails and the very last words that have been said on the radio when the jeep hit us.

And there are days that I have to call normal even though nothing is normal about them.

* * *

The doctors said it was common to never be able to remember that night again. It was common that my brain blocked out what happened, that I had forgotten.  
But how could I ever forget?  
Sure, when I was still lying in hospital with broken rips and pain I couldn't handle, I didn't remember a thing. But I knew something was wrong. I already felt the emptiness inside of me.  
Sometimes I'm asking myself if it would have been better to never remember any of it, to never know what actually happened. Maybe living with that uncertainty would have made my life easier.  
But I will never know if it really would.

A week after getting released from the hospital – and after nights of asking myself more and more questions – reality befell me, made me solve all the riddles, until I remembered every single detail of that night – even things the doctors had hidden from me.  
I stood in our bathroom and held on to our wash-bowl, gasped for air while remembering the sound of the rain on our car's front shield, remembering how it felt to laugh with Jessica. We couldn't stop doing so because we tricked our parents and they didn't even suspect anything, couldn't stop because we were going to have a great night. I saw the GPS right in front of me, telling us we had only five minutes left of driving. I remembered that we were the third car in a row in front of the traffic lights.  
I saw headlights again, listened to the awful sound of metal and iron sheet crashing into each other.  
And while I was breaking down on the floor of our bathroom and tried to cover my ears with my hands, I could hear Jessica's last sound over and over again in my head:

The bloodcurdling scream of my dying sister.


End file.
